A Melody Played In A Penny Arcade
by Rush Limborg
Summary: Set just after "Dance, Diane, Dance". Sam resolves to aid and comfort Diane amid another loss of one of her dreams. Naturally, as far as Diane's concerned, there's at least one dream that will never die. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!
1. Chapter 1

**Note: Here, dear readers, is another story addressing an off-screen moment I wish could have been on-screen. Upon seeing "Dance, Diane, Dance", I always wonder how Diane coped with the fact that this chance to reclaim a lost dream had just blown up in her face, because it was all make-believe. What's more, how did Sam (and maybe Frasier) cope with what had happened? And ultimately—seeing as that episode is the one ****_right_**** before "Chambers vs. Malone"—is there possibly a connection between the events of the former and Diane showing up in the beginning of the latter with her firm conviction regarding a certain proposal…?**

**The title is from the classic song "It's Only A Paper Moon".**

* * *

All three were silent as they walked out of the theater, to the parking lot. It was only when they arrived at Sam Malone's car that he turned to Diane, and asked, "Hey, um…did you take your car, or…?"

Diane Chambers said nothing…standing still, her gaze fixed on the theater housing the Boston Ballet.

"Hey—Diane?"

"Hmm—oh," Diane blinked, and turned to him, shaking her head, "N-no, I…I took a taxi."

Sam nodded. "Well, uh…let's take you home, huh?"

Diane frowned, and shook her head, "Sam, should we be getting back to the bar? I-I mean, after all—"

"Honey—" Sam took her arms, and sighed, "I'll give you the day off. I think you'll need it, okay?"

Diane looked at him, saying nothing…and if Sam knew her face, she was struggling to keep herself together. Finally, she nodded, "Right, um…well, thank you, Sam."

"Yeah…okay, let's get you home."

"Uh—Sam?" Dr. Frasier Crane held up his finger. "I…think it would be best if I were to call a cab of my own. I—have some things to take care of at the office."

"Sure, great. See you around, Doc."

Frasier nodded…and paused. He walked up to Diane, and sighed, "Diane…I—I want you to know, I'm…so sorry. For—well, for everything."

Diane swallowed, and nodded, "I know," she whispered.

Frasier nodded slowly, and replied in the same tone, "I…can't tell you how deeply I wish I hadn't—"

"Frasier," Diane straightened up, "I know why you did it. I'm not angry."

Frasier nodded, and forced a smile. "Well—I'll see you both tomorrow, perhaps?"

The other two nodded, and he walked away.

Sam opened the passenger door, and Diane sat down, putting her coat and bag to the side of the door after Sam closed it after her.

As they drove, Sam found he couldn't take it anymore—the sight of Diane sitting there, in silence, struggling desperately to keep herself from breaking…so hurt inside. And dressed as she was, in that ballet suit (or whatever you called it) and small skirt with her hair in a ponytail, she looked so "girlish", and innocent, and so _vulnerable_. In this case…vulnerable to getting hurt. And so, he found himself straining for something to say—_anything_.

"You know," he said, "I was just thinking…one time, I was pitching—and there was this one guy, on the other team—" he'd usually have given names, but under the circumstances, he didn't think she deserved to be even more lost than she already was, right now—"and he'd been making the rounds about what a _great_ batter he was, and how he was always looking forward to reading any pitcher sent his way, and—well, I just _so_ wanted to _drum_ all that smugness out of him. I just—before the game, you could ask me what I wanted, what I was really _dreaming_ about doing…it was striking him out—no nonsense, no teasing him, just putting him in his place, proving him wrong—he wasn't in control; _I_ was. And when I was up there, on that mound…and he stepped up to the plate—_boy_ was I ready to take him down."

Diane swallowed, blinked, and turned to him, "What happened?"

Sam sighed, and shook his head, "He hit a run, my first pitch,"

"A…home run?"

Sam nodded with a smile, "Hit it right out of the park. Guess…it wasn't my day for dreams, I guess."

Diane nodded, her gaze lowered.

"Well—sweetheart, what I'm saying is…some things, you can't—"

"Sam," she quietly interrupted, "Can—can we pull over?"

"Why, is something—?"

"Just…please, pull over."

Sam frowned, but he did, shifting to park.

Diane stared at her hands as she wrung them…looking as if she was trembling a little. At last, she looked at him with heartbreaking eyes, and said in a small voice, "Sam, hold me?"

Sam straightened in his seat, and nodded, opening his arms. Diane pressed her face against him—and sobbed, letting it all out…soaking Sam's shirt with her tears.

Sam held her gently, feeling a dark kind of churning inside him. It always tugged at his heart, whenever she cried like this—and whenever she did, there was nothing he wanted more than to make things right…to cheer her up, and comfort her. He couldn't ever stand to see her break down like this—giving up on fighting. There was always that "innocent" part of her—the inner "little girl" that wanted to teach the world to sing (with or without the Coke)—and whenever he saw _that_ part of her get hurt, he just couldn't stand it, _whatever_ was going on between them.

"Hey," Sam whispered, "It's okay…. Honey, it's okay…."

Diane shook her head, still sobbing.

"Look…Diane, I know, it's not fair, but—"

"Oh, Sam—" she looked up at him, "It isn't. It _isn't_! Why am I such a _failure_ at—at everything?!"

"Hey, you're _not_—!"

She shook her head, "I…I'm sorry. I…I shouldn't think it, but I…oh, _Sam_—!"

"Hey—"

But Diane buried her face in his shirt again, her sobs louder and uncontrolled.

"Hey, come on…" Sam whispered in her ear, "You're not a failure—"

Diane straightened up, sniffled, and sat back in her seat for a moment. Finally, she shrugged, "Why, you're right—I'm only a _dreamer_. A dreamer who cannot accept the reality of her own limitations, and can only _humiliate_ herself by daring to think her dreams can come true—!"

"Now, just hold on—that wasn't your fault, okay? I should've told you before, but I…I just couldn't."

Diane nodded, "It…it's all right, Sam."

"No—come on, it's _not_ all right. Look, Frasier thought you'd be devastated if you read what she _really_ wrote—and I knew it was a bad idea, but I went along, anyway. I—"

"No," she shook her head, "It's…Sam, we can go."

"Right…" Sam resumed driving. Diane stared ahead, and went on:

"I should've seen how terrible I was—but I let something too good to be true convince me it _was_ true—that I had talent, that I…that I could _dance_. I couldn't face reality—I'm a _fool_."

"Hey, will you stop being so hard on yourself—I mean, how were you supposed to know? How could _you_ know we were pulling the wool over your eyes—?"

"Sam, just—please, don't blame yourself…and don't blame Frasier."

Sam gave her a smile, "Well, that's not fair—next step for me would've _been_ to blame Frasier. It was his idea."

Diane didn't smile back. "Sam, I don't want you to 'blame' anyone—not yourself, not Frasier. It was my own fault—the two of you wanted to spare me pain, and my stupidly hopeful persona refused to leave well enough alone—"

Sam put a hand on her shoulder, "Hey, you're not '_stupid'_…okay?—one thing you're _not_, Diane,is stupid."

Diane said nothing, looking off.

In a few minutes, they arrived at Diane's building. Sam parked, and turned to her, "You gonna be okay?"

For a while, Diane leaned back in her seat, gaze lowered. Finally, she shook her head and whispered, "I don't know."

Part of Sam told him _not_ to say the words that followed…but another part knew he had to—consequences be darned, "Need me to come with you?"

Diane turned to him, eyes widening a little in astonishment. But she didn't grin at him, this time—didn't give him that "knowing" smile she'd been tossing him a lot lately, the big smile that said _I've got you, Sam Malone—and there's no escape from your feelings of love for me!_ She just sighed, and nodded—and the smile she gave was timid and unsure. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam nodded, trying not to notice how drawn he was to her, right now, "Okay…"

He got up, making sure to lock his door. He went around to the passenger side, and opened it. Diane got out, and stepped aside as Sam locked the door. Sam turned to her…and saw how stiff she was, as she looked away at nothing in particular. She held the coat and bag tightly, hugging herself close as she swallowed.

As far as Sam was concerned, this was almost worse than her breaking down in tears. There was no sudden reversal for her—no revelation that the poem Sam sent to the magazine was one of _hers_…this was real. A dream—albeit a dream that had only recently found new life—had been crushed for her. She was hurting inside…and vulnerable to more. Sam couldn't handle that.

Sam put his arm around her, resting his hand on her shoulder, "Let's get you up, huh?"

She swallowed, and nodded, "Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam's support of her helped, as they walked up the stairs to her floor. Somehow, it did—whether it was just that he was there, ensuring that Diane was not alone in this time of crisis, or that he was supporting her, his arm on her shoulder, encouraging…sharing his strength and his endurance. Either way, he was _there_…and as far as she was concerned, it was better not to be alone, as she dealt with the sudden trauma of a vanishing dream.

They arrived, and Diane fiddled in her purse for her key. Sam stood to the side, and asked, "Well, you…gonna be alright?"

Diane tried her hardest not to let herself feel the desperation within. That he was here, with her—the man she knew—she _knew_!—she was to marry…it _was_ helping her, as gradual as it was…and Sam seemed to know it. But it would be far too unfortunate for her to beg for him to stay—she could never allow herself to be desperate, to undercut her own dignity.

She swallowed, and tried to smile as she unlocked the door, "Would you…care to come in?"

"What?"

Diane opened the door, and sighed, "Look, I…if you don't want to, I understand fully—it's only…to answer your question, I'm not sure."

"Sure…?"

"If I'm going to be all right. This…this whole thing, it just—oh, for goodness sake, Sam, would you come _in_?"

"Okay…" Sam threw up his hands and followed her in.

Diane closed the door, put the coat and bag aside, and turned to him, wringing her hands a little. "It—the whole thing has been a…sudden _surge_ of emotions for me, a swelling of hope for me that a lost dream has, at long last, been _restored_ to me, and…and then—"

"There—see?" Sam shook his head, walking to her, "That _was_ our fault. You know, the funny part is, I guess we…kinda panicked when we saw what that woman wrote."

Diane stared at him, "It…it was that bad?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah…she hated your _guts_. Diane—I guess I let Frasier do what he did, because I hated the sight of it: now, I know for a _fact_, as b—" he hesitated for a moment, "Well, sure, you're not the _best_ dancer out there, but—geez, you're not as bad as _she_ said."

Diane nodded, "Well—Madam Lihkova is…known for her high standards."

"Well, I guess I just—didn't want to see what it would do to you." Sam looked off, and scoffed, chuckling bitterly, "Lot of good _that_ did. But—I sure wasn't the biggest fan of Frasier's 'corrections', I can tell you _that_!"

Diane said nothing.

Sam spread out his hands, "Oh, see? I told you blaming Frasier was next. And he's not even here to stop it."

Diane sighed, shaking her head, and walked up to him, "Sam…"

Sam turned to her. "Look, um…I don't think I'm the best person to have around, right now."

"No…you are," Diane smiled. "I mean it—thank you, Sam."

"What, for being here so you can hear me rant?"

"No," Diane put her hand on his arm, "For caring. What you did—both of you…while I freely admit it _did_ encourage me…excessively…"

Sam looked off, smirking.

"…still, it _was_ for the right reasons, I suppose. You—you cared about me…and you cared enough to try and stop me."

"Yeah, well, not hard enough. We should've just come out and _told_ you." Sam spread out his hands. "I just…I tried to, but I couldn't."

Diane nodded, her gaze lowered.

Sam started pacing the room, "I know—no excuse; it's stupid. I didn't have the guts—just…seeing you, all ready to go—all happy, I just couldn't…y'know, bring myself to wipe that smile and that _glow_ off of you…."

Diane shook her head, looking up at him. "Sam…I _don't_ blame you for what happened."

"No, you're just blaming yourself—and that's not right, it's not _fair_!" Sam huffed, and stopped his pacing, turning to her, his face filled with concern…even worry.

Diane felt her eyes moisten…and she blinked it back, and smiled. "Oh, Sam…" she said.

Sam froze, as if bracing himself for something.

Diane walked up to him. "For what it may be worth, Sam, I must live with this disappointment. I trust it'll be relatively simple, as I'd long given up my dream of dancing, beforehand."

"Oh, come on…I saw how happy you were—and…well, _geez_!—a bit ago, you were crying your eyes out!"

Diane chuckled, "Well, in that case, I would say inviting you in was as beneficial as I thought it'd be."

Sam paused at this, looking at her blankly. Finally, he looked off and let out a sigh, "Oh, well _that's_ just…" he muttered.

Diane tilted her head, "What?"

Sam looked at her, and shrugged, "Never mind…."

Diane looked off, and wrung her hands a little as she walked over to her couch, sitting down with a sigh. She rubbed her temples a bit.

Sam walked to her, sitting beside her, "Got a headache?"

"Not really, thank you." Diane sighed again, and leaned back into the cushions of her couch. Sam watched her, saying nothing.

Diane stared up at the ceiling in silence, looking at nothing in particular…settling on what patters she could make out, above her. It was relaxing, somehow—a convenient, informal meditation: something with which to focus her mind.

_It makes precious little sense. Why, of all things, would I suddenly find these opportunities once thought lost forever suddenly restored, thrown into my lap as though to encourage me—and then to be taken away, with just as little warning? No, not just what happened today—and not even the rewritten review. Why would I hear of this mentorship of Madame Lihkova…and then find myself _accepted_ into it—accepted!—only to have her so thoroughly disgusted with my performance?_

"Why did she accept me?" she found herself saying.

Sam frowned, "Pardon?"

Diane turned her head to him, "Madame Lihkova. Why would she accept me in the first place? Surely it…it _must_ have meant she saw talent—_potential_ within me. And—she couldn't possibly think I lacked the motivation to improve myself—I _wanted_ to! I—"

"Sweetheart…" Sam put a hand on her shoulder, "You know what I think? Either she was having a _really_ bad day, or it was personal—maybe she just didn't like you, for some reason. Or maybe she's just a big jerk. But, look, if she _really_ cared, I'm sure she could've helped you out."

Diane smirked, "Sam, you don't need to say that."

Sam returned the smile, "I know—I'm saying it anyway. I've seen you around the bar, honey—you're pretty darn graceful when you're walking or rushing around, doing your job."

"Well, that certainly does me a lot of good. When I walk, I dance, and when I dance, I…_hop_."

"Well—okay, the best way I can say this, I guess: if you worry too much about what you're doing, you end up trying too hard, and it blows up in your face: 'What if I screw up? What if I stumble on something? What if the girl turns me down? What if the guy hits a run?'—you know, I was so_ obsessed_ with striking that guy out, I worried too much about it. Now, I don't know how _worried_ you get when you dance, but…maybe you're just thinking too much."

Diane smiled, "Well, you've certainly told me _that_, quite a lot."

"I know, but—in this case, who knows? You think too much about something—it's a home run for the other team."

Diane paused, letting his words sink deep within. She resumed her stare at the ceiling, mulling over what he said. "Perhaps, Sam," she whispered.

She felt a small _plop_ in her lap—and she looked down to see dear little Christopher snuggling up to her. Diane smiled, as she pet the kitten gently, absorbing the sound of his purrs.

Sam chuckled, "Well, now that's something—I heard you say _something_ about a cat, when you were all spooked about your apartment."

Diane beamed at him, "Well, here's your confirmation, then!"

"Sure. So, when did you get…uh, is that a him or her?"

"Him—his name is Christopher; Christopher Marlowe."

"Okay. Well, when did _this_ happen?"

Diane chuckled, "He's an offspring of Carla's cat. Presumably, Norman took them all home in exchange for free beers."

Sam snickered.

Diane smiled down at Christopher, as the kitten snuggled up to her. "It was Woody's idea to give one to me."

Sam grinned, "Was it?"

"Mm-hmm! I found myself telling him of Elizabeth, and…well, apparently he decided he didn't want me to be—well, alone any longer."

Sam froze for a moment, seeming to stiffen at her words. Then he forced a chuckle, "Well, um—that's…funny."

Diane turned to him and chided, "_Sam_…I think it was very sweet of him."

"Well, of course it was—I'm just a little, you know, surprised at all this."

Diane shrugged, "Well, oddly enough, I _was_ feeling quite alone at the time."

"Yeah?" Sam gave a smirk which seemed to Diane to be a little forced, "You know, can't say that'd have been a problem if you'd stayed at the inn, huh?"

Diane blinked, staring at him, finding herself at a loss for words.

Sam shook his head with a sigh, "Sorry…."

"No, Sam, I—I can understand why you'd think that."

"Why I'd _think_—? Geez, you head away, leaving _me_ all—"

Diane nodded, lowering her gaze, "I know, I—I'm sorry, Sam. I…suppose, in that sense, you're right—I brought it on myself. In more ways than one—the proposal, the—"

"Diane, you don't need to bring that up again, okay?"

"Sam, the _point_ is…I _was_ feeling quite alone. And, I—I can't tell you how wonderful it was, when Christopher was given to me…" she smiled down at Christopher, who met her gaze for a little bit.

Sam said nothing. Diane turned to him again, and noticed he was looking off, seeming deep in thought.

Diane smirked, "I would offer a penny for your thoughts if I thought I'd be buying much."

Sam turned to her with a tired smile, "I thought we agreed that was getting a little old."

Diane nodded, her gaze lowered as Christopher left her lap to play elsewhere. "Yes, I…I suppose you're right, Sam. I—after all, what you said, a moment ago…I needed to hear it. It _is_ helping me—thank you."

Sam nodded. "Any time."

Diane leaned back, stretching out a bit, closing her eyes for a moment.

"A little tired?"

Diane nodded, "I suppose. In a sense, these emotional adventures can be rather tiring…."

"Yeah…I know what you mean."

Diane relaxed, her eyes closed. She couldn't help but feel Sam's gaze upon her—taking in the sight of her body as she lay back, stretched out as she was, clad as she was in her dancing attire. She actually found it rather pleasing, the thought of him visually admiring her, and felt a smile come to her face.

Frankly, there had been many times, from the moment they'd first met, when she'd suddenly had a flicker of a feeling of self-consciousness, when her back was turned to Sam—as though part of her was wondering whether he was sneaking a "look", what would often be euphemized as "checking her out". But it had never been more than a brief hint of a thought, dismissed in favor of more important things. And somehow, _"Why, Sam!—Are you sneaking looks at my posterior?"_ wasn't the kind of question one asks if one didn't want to create an awkward and defensive moment.

Besides…in this case—knowing Sam Malone couldn't help letting himself find her desirable—it certainly was a nice step. She knew full well it was only a matter of time before he'd break and admit the painfully obvious—that he still loved her, not only as a friend, or even as a potential lover, but as a true _partner_ of the heart, of the soul…. For now, though…knowing he'd been lowering his guard for some time (however unintentionally) would have to do.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam waited for a moment, watching her rest. Something about her…just—something about the way she looked right then—

_Oh, stop._

But…still, he couldn't begin to help himself—her lying there, dressed as she was…hair in that "girlish" ponytail, so relaxed and peaceful…letting herself be vulnerable to him, like that—he couldn't help but be reminded of how sexy he found her…and despite everything, wouldn't _stop_ finding her. Especially dressed as she was, right now. Good thing it wasn't red—he didn't think he'd have been able to handle it, if she'd been wearing _that_. Or maybe the blue made it worse—it helped make her look pretty darn innocent, and maybe that disarmed him even more….

_Hey, I said knock it off!_

Sam shoved the thoughts away, and smiled as he leaned to her. "Hey, you awake?"

Diane shifted position, her eyes still closed, and smiled a little, "Mm-hmm."

"Okay, well, uh…I think I'd better be going, don't you think?"

Diane frowned as she opened her eyes, looking at him, "Oh, must you?"

"Come on, you're doing great, don't you think?"

Diane looked off, "Well, perhaps…I think. But—"

"Oh, come on—what do you need, huh?"

She looked at him. "As of right now?"

Sam shrugged.

Diane's gaze lowered for a moment. Finally, she smiled a little at him. "Some tea would be nice."

Sam chuckled. "You know, I'm pretty sure that isn't something you need _me_ for—"

"Oh, Sam…" Diane pouted, looking at him with doe-like eyes, "Are you really so desperate to leave me all alone, like this?"

"Oh, please—"

"_Sam_…you can't tell me there's anything wrong with fixing tea for us, can you?"

"Okay—fine!" Sam said as he threw up his hands, standing up, "You want the tea? Fine, I'll make the tea!"

As he headed around the couch to go to the kitchen, he saw Diane turn so she could watch him, her chin resting down against the back of the couch, "Thank you, Sam," she cooed.

"Whatever." Sam entered the kitchen. "How do you like it?"

"Oh, silly Sam—you know how I like it!"

"Okay, okay—geez, you really _are_ a loon, you know that?"

She chuckled, "Perhaps."

As Sam filled the kettle, that kitten—Christopher—jumped from somewhere onto the counter. He sat there, looking at Sam with a questioning look.

Sam sighed, "What?"

"Sam, did you say something?"

"Not _you_—I'm talking to your cat."

"Oh, I _see_…!" Diane chuckled, as she got up and walked to the door frame, looking in. "Dare I suggest you're getting along quite well?"

"I don't know—maybe he knows what I'm making, and you've been giving him tea instead of milk."

Diane shook her head. "_Sam_…I've found him to be highly perceptive, actually."

"You'd think your stuffed animals are 'perceptive'."

"Well, actually, now that you mention it…"

Sam turned to her, "Do I need to worry about you?"

Diane sighed, still smiling, "Now, you're not going to suggest Christopher's intelligence isn't higher than a toy's."

"I don't even know what your _point_ is, right now! I—"

Sam cut himself off by the feel of fur rubbing up against his arm, with a slight rumbling sound. He turned to the kitten and muttered, "Hey, lay off, will you?"

Christopher straightened up, and looked up at him with an innocent expression that Sam found _really_ familiar.

Diane chuckled, "Why, I do believe he likes you, Mr. Malone."

"Well, let's check him out and make sure he's a guy."

"Mew!" Christopher shot back.

Sam scoffed and looked down at him, "I'm just trying to make a point, okay?"

Christopher just looked at Sam's arm, and pawed at it a little.

Diane shook her head, beaming. "Sam Malone, there's hope for you, after all."

"Uh-huh. Look, if you're just keeping me here to have some _fun_, I'm not gonna help you."

"Oh?"

Sam turned the gage on the stove, and said, "You want your tea, fine—but I've been in a cold sweat since you went off to that theater today, and I need a shower."

"Well, I'm beginning to find even _that_ preferable to your typical cologne."

"Diane, I'm serious. Now will you get out of the way? I'm—"

He walked up to the door frame—and Diane backed up, matching his steps.

Sam shook his head, "What—okay, enough with the—"

He made a mad dash for the door—but Diane beat him to it, grinning with a playful glint in her eyes as she set all the locks, then whirled to face him. "Gotcha!"

Sam let out a scoff. "Okay, I'm pretty sure there's a law against this."

Diane still grinned as she leaned back against the door—and Sam again found himself noticing how bewitchingly form-fitting her "innocent" blue outfit was.

"The shower's in there, Sam," she said, tossing a glance to the bathroom.

"Now, come on—Diane, this is _stupid_, okay?"

She shrugged, "Oh, I quite agree, this is a ludicrous situation—I can think of at least a dozen men who are just _longing_ to use my shower…."

"So ask one of _them_."

"Oh, don't tell me you'd approve of _that_."

"_Look_—"

Diane's eyes sparkled. "I dare you."

Sam paused for a moment, and pointed to her, "You know, there's still the fire escape—and I'm pretty sure I'll beat you _there_."

Diane shrugged. "Go ahead, if you must. But understand you'll be breaking my heart, and that of Christopher."

"I don't think he even _cares_."

Diane took a few steps to him, and sighed, "Sam…perhaps you're right—it's all absurd. But surely you won't tell me you—"

Sam held up his hand, "Do we have to go through this again? Diane, you're just dealing with a _big_ disappointment—don't you think maybe you're just a _little_ too stuck on this?"

Diane paused, her smile fading. Finally, she asked, "Is that what you think?"

"Well, I don't—"

"Sam…I have my dreams—and I'll always have them. I may lose some, but…I still have my hopes: my writing, my poetry…"

"Well, I will say you sing pretty good, you know."

"Pretty _well_," Diane smiled, "But I thank you, regardless."

"Sure—but what does that have to do with…?"

Diane shrugged, "Perhaps it's another dream of mine: one that refuses to die."

Sam chuckled, "Yeah, you and every other woman I've ever dated."

Diane shook her head, her smile growing again, "_Oh_, no—it's not the same, and we both know it."

"Sure, most of _them_ accept it ain't gonna happen, and move on—"

"Sam, you're not going to _trivialize_ this for me, so don't try."

"Hey, _you're_ the one who keeps saying not to ruin the moment. Well, I've been here for you, helping you out of what happened; now let's not make it more than it is, okay?"

Diane's smile faded, and she lowered her gaze for a moment. After a moment, she nodded, "Okay…."

"Okay. Uh—maybe I'd better…" Sam went past her, to the door—

Diane turned to him, "Sam?"

Sam turned to her, "Yeah?"

Diane swallowed a little, and asked, "I…don't suppose I could—convince you to stay just for—one more thing? If not the tea, well, at least…"

Sam shook his head with a smirk, and finally shrugged, defeated, "What's up?"

Diane extended a hand to him, "Care to share a dance?"

Sam blinked, "Come again?"

Diane smiled, "Just for one song…call it closure, I don't know. I…think I'll be able to handle things, after that."

Sam sighed, and spread out his hands. "Fine, whatever—but that's it."

"For tonight."

"Whatever you say."

Diane nodded, and held up a forefinger. Then she headed off, Sam wagered to get the record.

_Oh, she's not telling me what—I got a feeling I'm gonna _love_ this_….

Sam found himself looking in the direction of the kitchen. The kitten was still on the counter, looking at him, head tilted.

Sam scoffed at him, "Oh, shut up. Why don't you go catch a _moth_ or something?"

Christopher looked off for a moment, and leapt off the counter.

Diane came back with a record, and put it on the player, setting it where she wanted. Then she walked to Sam in the middle of the room, and they got into position as the song began. It was Sinatra:

_It is only a paper moon,_

_Sailing over a cardboard sea—_

_But it wouldn't be make-believe_

_If you believed in me…!_

Sam chuckled, "You trying to tell me something?"

Diane met his gaze with an innocent smile, "I don't know…is there something to be told?"

Sam sighed, shaking his head. Diane chuckled silently, and rested her head on his shoulder….

_Without—your—love…_

_It's a honky-tonk parade…_

_Without—your—love…_

_It's a melody played in a penny arcade!_

"You know," Sam added softly as the song went on, "You seem pretty relaxed right now—you're actually doing pretty g—_well_."

Diane chuckled, "Why not? I have a wonderful partner who believes in me…who's there for me, and always will be—why wouldn't I be at peace with the world?"

Sam shook his head, "You don't give up, do you?"

Diane's eyes sparkled as she grinned up at him. "_Never_," she whispered.

Sam held her as they swayed to the music, looking off at nothing in particular. They remained this way until the song's final notes….

_It's a Barnum and Bailey world—_

_Just as phony as it can be…_

_But it wouldn't be make-believe_

_If you—believed…in me!_

"Oh, Sam, I love you," Diane whispered, still resting against Sam's shoulder.

Sam said nothing…just held her until the song was long over. _And I believe it._

* * *

**Note: The "shower" exchange is a nod to Carey Grant and Audrey Hepburn, who have such a cute/sexy exchange in the film "Charade". I felt it so smacked of Diane Chambers of early Season 5 that I couldn't really resist.**


End file.
